


Zombies In the Park All Staring At Me

by raven_crow_kids



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blue Has Had Enough, F/M, Nerd Richard Gansey III, Where's the Plot?, gansey is kind of a stalker, he just really loves Blue okay, im back with more bluesy, im stupid and so is this, spoiler alert: that's all i write, the author eludes your question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29598450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_crow_kids/pseuds/raven_crow_kids
Summary: In which Gansey is too scared to talk to Blue and she's too impatient to wait any longer.
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent
Kudos: 10





	Zombies In the Park All Staring At Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cough Syrup by Young the Giant

He was there again. In the booth. Her booth.

Of course he was. No more than three days had gone by in four months without a visit from the boy. The one who tipped generously and seemed to know her name, even if he was too scared to say it, and who never seemed to be without a fat journal of some interest to Blue. Richard Campbell Gansey the Third must have sunk half his fortune into grubby little Nino's.

Gansey - Blue couldn't call him Richard, even in her head - smiled as she approached, and Blue had to turn her head away as if the very sun was sitting in the worn booth. His stupid hair formed a perfect chesnut wave on his head and Blue wondered absently what it would feel like between her fingers. Probably like the twelve-hundred count sheets he definitely slept on every night. 

"Hello," he beamed. "How's your day been?"

"Can I get your order?" Blue tapped her pen against the pad, trying not to feel bad about the range of emotions that passed over his face at her words. Ignoring his friendliness produced different results on different days. Last week, he had been about ten seconds from bursting into tears and she'd had to blurt out some line about rude customers to calm him down. Today he only glanced unsurely at the table then ordered a side of fries, pasting the smile back on his face.

"Sure thing. Nothing to drink?"

"Uh, no. I mean, no, thank you." He tapped an anxious finger against his knee. Something seemed off about him today.

"Great. Shouldn't take too long, I'll be back out in a minute."

"Can't wait!" Gansey cringed at himself, and turned away to hide his face. Blue had to force the laughter down. Stalkers shouldn't be encouraged, she reasoned.

Blue turned back to the kitchens, holding up one finger to signal fries to Cialina, who had recently taken an interest in culinary arts and been given a chance as a cook. Not that Blue cared. She did not care about her coworkers' lives. Not at all.

Technically, she should be talking with the family that had just settled into a table in her area, but it was much more interesting to inspect Gansey. She did this nearly every time he came in, and it was a wonder he hadn't caught her yet. She had every dip and peak of his figure memorized, even if they were covered in a garish shade of teal that she's never seen on him before. Once or twice before he'd come in wearing fragile-looking, thin frames, mostly on her late-night shifts. Not today though. Never during the day. 

Sometimes he brought friends, cycling through a dark, handsome scowl of a boy, a smudgy boy who never touched his pizza, and Adam Parrish, who she'd had a crush on in middle school, until he transferred to Aglionby. He hadn't recognized her yet, a credit to Blue's updated wardrobe, but she figured it was only a matter of time.

Sometimes all three, if he was having a 'burst into tears' day. 

Blue hated that she could recognize his moods so easily. For example, today was a Recovering Day. More specifically, My-friends-are-busy-today-so-I'm-alone-and-I-just-got-a-phone-call-from-my-father-(mother?)-and-that-sure-bummed-me-out-so-I'm-back-to-stalking-that-poor-waitress-who-does-not-deserve-all-that-I-make-her-suffer Day. Blue shuddered.

Was it against some kind of moral code to avoid talking to him when he was so obviously miserable? Possibly Persephone's, certainly not Calla's. And what would Maura say?

Blue could picture her mother standing a few feet away, arms crossed. "Blue," she prodded. "This -Gansey- is clearly hurting. Now, I was under the impression that I didn't raise a cruel, unfeeling child, but you've been very busy proving me wrong. Why don't you-"

Imaginary Maura was cut off by Real Cialina, leaning over the counter to hand Blue the basket of fries. "Hey, where's his journal? Never seen him without it before."

"Oh!" cried Blue, blushing when Cialina stepped back. "Sorry. I couldn't put my finger on what was missing. Thanks, I got this." She hurried back over to Gansey, slipping on her Bad Cop persona, then slammed the heel of her palm down on the table in front of him, making him jump. "Where's your little diary?" she demanded.

"What?"

"That stupid journal you always have?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it stupid..."

"Answer the question!" Blue resisted the urge to tail her statement with 'nerd.' That might be getting a little too much into character. Poor thing, he looked like a lost sheep.

"Uh." Gansey looked around the restaurant for help, but none was forthcoming. "My parents asked to borrow it, to show to their historian friends. I won't be getting it back for a couple weeks at least. Why?"

"You don't get to ask questions," sneered Blue, and immediately decided to back off the heat. He looked genuinely frightened. "What do you even write in there anyway?"

He leaned forward conspiratorially, as if Blue hadn’t just been playing Bad Cop. “Do you know anything about Welsh kings?”

Blue paused to consider. He was obviously playing some sort of game, trying to embarrass her somehow, but she couldn’t see the means to get there. “Welsh kings. Sounds like you know more than I do. Tell me.”

Gansey gestured for her to sit and Blue wondered how long this was going to take. The booth crackled under the new weight. “You see, it all starts about six hundred years ago-”

Blue found herself half-interested as he spun a tale of sleeping kings and granted wishes, or, to-be-granted wishes. What could she do with an unlimited wish? Escape Henrietta, certainly. Escape this conversation, less likely.

“That is so riveting,” interrupted Blue in the middle of something about the Switzerlands. “But you should eat your fries or they’ll get cold. It would be a shame if you had to order more.”

“Would that get you to stay longer?” Gansey promptly blushed beet red, but didn’t break bashful eye contact. She had to admit it had been uncharacteristically smooth of him, if the past four months were any indicant. 

Still, Blue wasn’t going to give him a win if she could help it. “I’m working,” she scoffed. 

“I’ll take-” he began.

“Stop! You’ll only make things worse. See you around, Gansey.” Blue darted out of the booth before she could see his reaction to her knowing his name, and before he could realize she’d left her number scrawled on a napkin. 

As a rule, you shouldn’t encourage stalkers, but Blue also had rules about staying away from Aglionby boys, and those were already out the window. No rules could stop Blue from picking up the landline every time it rang that night until the inevitable call came and an ugly orange Camaro arrived the next night.

Forget the rules.


End file.
